


such a history of come and gone

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: My Family (And Other Dinosaurs) [46]
Category: Primeval
Genre: A+ Parenting, Archaeology, Gen, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: Liz has all her most important conversations halfway up a hill just before dawn. Or: archaeology as therapy for the formerly temporally challenged.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Denial monthly challenge, September.

_Very old are the brooks;_

_And the rills that rise_

_Where snow sleeps cold beneath_

_The azure skies_

_Sing **such a history**_

**_Of come and gone_ ** _,_

_Their every drop is as wise_

_As Solomon._

_-All That’s Past, Walter de la Mare_

 

            Liz was sitting on the edge of a steep trough in the land, her feet dangling, and her eyes gazing absently out into the air. In the dim dawn light Lyle could see her breath puffing out in white, even clouds, and the biting wind ruffled her short dark hair, but nothing else about her seemed to be moving. 

 

            He whistled to the dog they were supposed to be walking, and scrambled up the grass-softened side of the trough to meet Liz at the top. Spot, a chocolate Labrador of surpassing laziness, sat at the bottom of it and whined. Liz glanced down at the dog and grinned, a sudden flash of small, sharp white teeth. The dentist had had a lot to say about the deterioration of her teeth in what he thought was an amazingly brief period; Liz had merely blamed two small fillings and an extended trip to the hygienist on Helen’s failure to provide her with a toothbrush. They looked fine now.

 

            “Uncle Theo and Aunt Alison ought to drag Spot out for walks more,” she said. The sky was lighting up in soft pinks and violets on the edge of the horizon: the light flung deep shadows across the ruined camp’s edges, blurred by centuries. Lyle turned off the torch he had brought with him. Liz’s lay next to her loose left hand, shining.

 

            “They do their best,” Lyle said, and looked down at Spot as well. “Labradors are naturally fat, greedy, lazy buggers.”  


            “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

 

            Lyle smacked her shoulder lightly, telegraphing the movement with a cartoonish obviousness. He did it well enough that Liz didn’t flinch away or try to hit back. “Fucking cheek. I’m not a Labrador.”  


            Liz smirked. “Well, you’re fat, greedy and lazy, and in the most literal sense –”

 

            “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Spare me Lester humour at this time in the morning.”

 

            Liz shrugged, and kicked her feet against the long green grass. She stared out over the deceptively hollowed high ground before them, tipped her head back and breathed in cool, sharp-edged air, wet with the dew. “You volunteered to come with me.”  


            “I caught you sneaking out of the house with the dog, and I’m pretty sure you only took Spot because he’d have whined if you didn’t.”

 

            Liz looked sideways at him. “I can take care of myself.”  
  
            She wasn’t wrong. Lyle thought of the scars he had glimpsed, Liz in a sports bra and shorts on her way back from the gym, unconcerned by the fading remains of her uneven tan, wearing the pale twisted track of a projectile on her side – unidentified, despite the medics’ and archaeologist’s best efforts; Lyle didn’t care what had caused it, he only wanted to wring the neck of the person who fired it – and claw-marks on her shoulder. His heart ached.

 

            “I know,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”

 

            There was a long pause; Liz’s face softened.

 

            He cleared his throat. “I’ll murder the next fucker who tries to hurt you.”

 

            Something that was almost laughter danced in Liz’s eyes, which was reassuring; Lyle hadn’t heard her ready, sly laughter since she had broken up with Juliet, and he’d worried about its absence. She leaned against him, and allowed him to sling an arm around her shoulders and squeeze, friendly, companionable.

 

            “I like it out here,” Liz said eventually.

 

            Lyle made an inquiring sort of noise.

 

            “It’s old,” Liz said. She kicked the wall of earth again, the trench that had once defended an encampment. “It endures. It’s decayed and half gone, but it’s still here. It’ll be here for another hundred years.” She nodded at the rising sun. “It’s seen a thousand mornings like this.”

 

            “A lot more than a thousand,” Lyle said. She seemed a little tense, and he let his arm slide casually off her shoulders, freed her up to get up and move, if that was what she needed to do.

 

            Liz nodded again. There was another long pause.

 

            “Some things don’t change,” she said slowly. “I’ve been up here a hundred times. And every time is pretty much just like the last. Seasons might come and go, but they always come round again. It’s… behind the anomalies, nothing is the same for two minutes put together.” She darted a glance at him. “You know.”  


            It was Lyle’s turn to nod. He laid his hand over hers and squeezed tightly. After a moment, she turned her hand in his grip and twisted her fingers into his; they were stronger than they had been at the beginning of the summer, but she still wore chipped varnish, and kept her nails pared down to the quick.

 

            The sky lightened, and another dog-walker appeared, with a small terrier that appeared to get along well with Spot. The woman, wrapped in fleece layers, glanced up at them and raised a hand, but didn’t stop to greet them.  Lyle raised a hand back; Liz said nothing.

 

            Lyle’s stomach rumbled. “I want breakfast,” he informed his stepdaughter.

 

            “What did I say,” Liz said, without looking at him. “Fat, greedy and lazy.”

 

            “No respect for the aged.”

 

            Laughter danced in Liz’s eyes again, and she slid down the steep slope and whistled to Spot. “I’ll make you pancakes and bacon if you won’t tell Dad I was going to come out here alone,” she said. “He worries.”

 

            “And you think I don’t?” Lyle demanded, slithering down to join her.

 

            “I know you do,” Liz said, and those laughing eyes were solemn once more. “But there’s nothing I can do about that now.”


End file.
